


memories of folded roses

by arabellagaleotti



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Awesome Molly Weasley, BAMF Hermione Granger, Developing Relationship, Draco Malfoy Feels, Draco Malfoy Has Issues, Draco Malfoy in the Muggle World, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, F/M, Flashbacks, Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Hermione Granger-centric, Origami, POV Hermione Granger, Pining Draco Malfoy, Post-War, Prison, Secret Relationship, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-20
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 19:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 7,324
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23222455
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arabellagaleotti/pseuds/arabellagaleotti
Summary: It was night, and she could hear everyone clattering around distantly, on the lower floors. She wasn't meant to be there, but she had to.There was something about him, about him when he waited in the square for seven hours without moving. Something about him when they finally went out, and then dragged him in, limp like a rag doll, with that glassy half-smile on his face, with the dull look on his eyes. He seemed dead, that was it. It seemed like they'd killed him, and there's nothing that she wanted more than to see what that was like.She’d crept in like a robber, making sure she wasn't seen, wasn't heard.“Granger,” and his voice is thin, like the rest of him.OR,A story about love, destiny, remembering things even when it’s hard and finding your way back to each other.
Relationships: Hermione Granger & Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger & Molly Weasley, Hermione Granger & Parvati Patil, Hermione Granger & Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger/Ernie Macmillan, Lavender Brown & Hermione Granger
Comments: 25
Kudos: 86





	1. Chapter 1

“And this way is your office —” Percy is explaining as they round a corner. It's her first day of the job at the DOMC — Department of Magical Creatures. She’s been wanting to work here since she started B.A.R.F. Now, it’s happening.

They turn the corner, and she smacks right into someone coming the opposite way.

“Oh,” she says, and looks into his face.

“Hi,” he says, and something in his eyes makes her think this is the most off-guard she’ll ever see him. He hadn't known she was working, or if he had, he hadn't been expecting to see her.

“Hi,” she half-whispers back.

“Ms. Granger, I’m so sorry,” Percy apologises profusely, “I —”

“Percy, it’s fine.”

“Agreed,'' Draco— Malfoy says “Good to see you, Granger.”

“And you.” Malfoy walks past them, continuing on his course.

“Honestly, if I had known —” Percy rushes to apologise again.

“Really, Percy, it’s okay. The war is behind us now.” Hermione says, then clears her throat and announces briskly, “Let's go.” Percy marches off down the corridor, and Hermione tries to not to remember. She fails.

_It was night, and she could hear everyone clattering around distantly, on the lower floors. She wasn't meant to be there, but she had to._

_There was something about him, about him when he waited in the square for seven hours without moving. Something about him when they finally went out, and then dragged him in, limp like a rag doll, with that glassy half-smile on his face, with the dull look on his eyes. He seemed dead, that was it. It seemed like they'd killed him, and there's nothing that she wanted more than to see what that was like._

_She’d crept in like a robber, making sure she wasn't seen, wasn't heard._

_Once she was inside, she just froze. She stood at the door and wondered if he'd acknowledge her, the one staring at the wall. After a moment, he moved, swung upwards to stare at her, like the marionettist had realised she was looking._

_“Granger,” and his voice is thin, like the rest of him._

_“Hi,” she blurts out, suddenly feeling self conscious, “I — I’m sorry to be here, bu —”_

_“Did they send you?” he looks sick. Hermione's aunt had cancer, and he looks like she did, with hi skin and his eyes and just the way his cheeks are hollowed. There's a terrible look people get when they are sick._

_“Who?”_

_“Order.”_

_“No. I’m here on my own.”_

_He smiles, and smiling in itself is a nice act. You smile, and it means you're happy, which means you're having a nice time, but with Malfoy, it’s more like a snarl, with a mocking edge in his narrowed eyes. “Gryffindor Granger never could leave well alone, could you?”_

_She swallows, and crosses her hands. “Why are you here?”_

_His face where it’s turned towards her, seems to break. “I — I,” he shivered violently, his spine rolling up and down, “I didn't know what I was getting into. Voldemort — he lived in my house,” he bends his head and starts to cry. “He lived in my house.”_

_Hermione watches him and doesn't know what to say, “I'm sorry,” and her voice comes out quiet, like a mouse._

_“You lot are always sorry,” and he’s crying now, tears running down his cheeks, “always sorry, but you never fix it.”_

_She couldn't handle that. The sudden attacks of her beliefs so suddenly, how it wasn't trying to be an attack. She’d left, along the hallway, down the stairs into the room she shared with Ginny, the one thankfully empty right now._

_She tried to breathe, and put her hand over her heart, and wondered what the fuck was wrong with her, the fuck she was thinking._


	2. Chapter 2

She goes out to lunch, a nice restaurant in a muggle part of town. Her, Ginny, Luna, Parvati and Lavender — she’s gotten over her devastating hatred for her by now — all get lunch, once a week, to stay in touch. It’s nice. Hermione only started for Ginny, but she finds she likes it. She liked that stability, and the reassurance.

She gets to the table five minutes later— issues with the floo — and finds the girls already have drinks in their hands, ripping rolls apart like animals.

“Hey, guys,” she says, drops her bag and drapes her coat over an empty chair.

Everyone mumbles their hellos and Luna says something definitively not in English.

“Why are you so late?” Ginny asks.

“I started work today.”

“Right, how was that?

“Well, I saw Dr— Malfoy.”

“Malfoy,” Parvati gapes. “God, how horrible.”

“Oh, no, I don't blame him. We all made hard choices during the war.”

She rolls her eyes, “He was a  _ death-eater _ , Hermione.”

“I don't think he had much of a choice.”

“We all had a choice,” Ginny says and her voice is hard, “he chose.”

Hermione clears her throat. “The thing is — remember when he turned himself in to the order?” she says to Ginny.

“Yes,“ she says suspiciously

“Malfoy turned himself into the order?” Luna says dreamily, “never thought he could do that. He was always such a..” she sighs, “purist.”

“Yeah,” Hermione says, and blink back the memories of his thin face, “stayed for a month or so.”

“Then he escaped in the middle of the night.”

Late afternoon, actually.

“Wow,” Lavender says. “God, I didn't know that.”

Ginny shrugs. “Wasn't huge of a deal. He never got any information. It was just weird, but we had other things to think about.”

“What about when he left?” Parvati questions, “he could have stolen something then.”

“All the rooms are warded and charmed.” Hermione explains, “it would have set off an alarm if he entered.”

“Hmm,” Parvati hums, and turns to the waiter when he approaches, asking about orders.

Hermione deflates, and her eyes phase past the menu.

_ “We all thought we’d be great,” he says, and his whole face is hollow. “All of us.” It's early morning, and the faint sun is shining though the curtains. No one knows that she's up here. _

_ Hermione doesn't say anything, just watches him, where he’s laid on the bed, with his shirt rising up to show a pale slice of his stomach. He’s terribly thin. Emancipated. How hair is short, well cared for, but it’s dirty, and hasn't been styled. The prideful boy she’d known is gone. _

_ “Pansy died. Her husband killed her, but he didn't take the final blow, so it's a disgrace. Theo, he ran, haven't caught him yet. Blaise, I don't see him anymore. He's as good as gone, working down there for him. _

_ “I'm sorry about your friends,” she says. _

_ “They aren't my friends,” he disagrees, “they're my family, they're what pot-heads and weasels are to you. Don't call them my friends like I was in three classes with them one year.” _

_ “I'm sorry about your family.” _

_ He looks pleased. “Thank you, Granger,” and he’s ultra polite, ultra cordial. “I’m sorry about yours.” _

_ “You know about that?” she’s surprised. _

_ “I was meant to kill them.” and he tips back onto his bed, “bet you're glad you moved them.” _

_ “You would have done it?” _

_ He laughs and it’s hollow and empty, rasping on the cusp of it. “I would have done anything, Hermione Granger. I would have killed them, I would have killed you. I’d done it all.” _

“Hermione!” Ginny says loudly. She looks up, surprised.

“Yes?” she says delicately.

“Order?” and Hermione's eyes hit the waiter, waiting for her.

“Oh! I’m sorry. Must have drifted into thought. I’ll have the….linguini, please.”

The waiter leaves and they all start making fun of her again. Hermione just laughs and apologises.


	3. Chapter 3

The ministry holiday party is coming up, it’s been a violently festive affair since the war. A few interns ask her, criminally young. She says no. She is not even sure about going, until Ernie, who's gotten a little less pompous with time, cons her into it.

“Come on, it’ll be fun. You’ll get to discuss that new legislation with the head of the department like you wanted…”

“Ah,” she sighs, “fine. Only for the legislature.”

“Only for the legislature,” and he laughs, and Hermione laughs back, and it kind of makes her happy.

—

She gets ready, straightening her hair and makeup, getting into the dress she’d borrowed from Ginny. It’s red silk and long, with a scoop back and a boatneck neckline, with a few adjustments to fit Hermione's taller frame, it fits perfectly. She feels good. Nice. it’s strange, being in clothes that you probably couldn't fight a war in. It’s been a long time.

She’s thinking about that when there’s a knock on the door of her muggle flat. She opens it, and it’s him, wearing a tux, holding flowers. He looks good in a suit. 

“Hey, Hermione.”

“Hey, Ernie,” she says.

“These are for you,” he holds out the flowers.

“Oh, thanks,” she says, and looks for a vase to put them in.

She pulls out a tall pot and fills it with water, snipping the ends of the flowers before unceremoniously dunking them in. “There,” she says, and grabs her bag.

He's standing there, looking at here strangely. “What?” she asks, “do I have something on my face?”

“No," and he chuckles a little. "That's just such a Hermione Granger thing to do,” he has this strange, fond look in his eyes.

Hermione clears her throat. "Should we go?”

“Yeah.”

They walk down to the corner, where they appear in an empty alley. They appear in the lobby of the ballroom where the event is being held.

She sees him nearly as soon as she enters. He’s in a suit, hair loose. He sees her too, and they look at each other until Ernie grabs her arm and guides her to someone she ‘desperately needs to meet’.

After an hour and a few rounds of socializing she’s a bit tired of Ernie's company. She makes an excuse about the ladies room and slips away, just to hide in the corner for a minute.

“Tired of Macmillion's company?” and it’s him, standing there, handing her punch.

“Tired, full stop,” she replies, and takes it. “Poisoned?”

“Nope,'' he takes it back from her head, sips, swallows extravagantly.

“Great,'' she takes it from his hand. There’s silence, for a moment, and she examines him close up. “You look nice.”

“So do you,” he murmurs, and looks at her. Whenever he looks at her, he feels like he really sees her. Through everything. “I don’t like your hair like that, though.”

Just then her date reappears and makes an excuse about the head of the department wanting to talk to her.

“Sorry, I should have warned you.”

“Warned me of what?”

“Malfoy. I didn't realise he was gonna be here.”

“It’s fine. I like him.

Ernie laughs, a little. “Hermione, it’s fine.”

“What?” and she’s getting defensive now. “I do.”

“He bullied you for years. He’s a death-eater. It’s fine if you don't like him.”

“He  _ was  _ a death eater, Ernie. There's more to the story. Now, leave it.”

“Okay. Sorry.”

She sighs angrily. “Lets get some punch.”


	4. Chapter 4

“How was that function, Hermione?” Parvati asks as soon as she sits down. “We got you a drink already,” she nods at the glass of wine.

“Hm, thanks,” she takes a sip. “It was okay. A work party.”

“Didn't you take Ernie?” Ginny asks, scanning her menu with an intensity unknown to man. 

“Yes, and it was terrible.”

Everyone groans in disappointment.

“What happened, Hermione?” Luna asks, twirling her hair around a fork like a disney princess.

“Well,” Hermione starts, clearing her throat, “I saw Malfoy —”

“God, I'm so sorry,” Ginny groans, looking up from the salad section.

She frowns. “No, you didn't let me finish. I was just talking when Ernie comes up and drags me off, then starts going on about saving me.”

Ginny's got a strange look on her face. “Well, didn’t he?”

She shakes her head. “I saved him, Ginny.” She forgets sometimes that people don't know about them.

“What are you talking about, Hermione.”

She clears her throat. “Nothing. Just...nothing.”

Ginny sighs and starts asking Luna about her artichokes.

_—_

_When she enters the room, he’s crying, shoulders rocking as he lays in bed._

_“Draco?” she calls, “are you okay?” it’s a dumb question, she knows as soon as it leaves her mouth. They are child soldiers in a war with the fate of everything hanging in the balance. They're not okay_

_There’s a moment of silence, and then a sniffle, and then Draco is rising up out of the darkness like the loch ness monster, “I'm not okay, Granger. Of course I'm not okay."_

_“Yeah, I know. Sorry." Her words hang in the silence. "What happened?”_

_“I started thinking,” and he laughs a little, to spite himself. “You should never think. You find cracks in everything.”_

_She steps forward, “Draco..."_

_“And all that time, at Hogwarts, I think I was just waiting for someone to come along and save me. They ever did. No one ever came.”_

_And she doesn't know what else to do, so she hugs him, he freezes for a moment, and she thinks he's made a mistake, but then he hugs her back, arms gripping her tightly. He sobs into her shirt and she just lowers her head and tries not to cry too. There’s no time, right now._

\-- 

“Hermione, oh my god, are you okay?”

She looks up and realises she's crying.

Hurriedly, she wipes the tears off her face. “Oh, yeah, sorry.”

“Hermione?”

“We ain't ever gonna be the same, she sniffs. “Imagine if there hadn't been a war. Where would we be? If there hadn’t ever been a divide between purebloods and muggle-borns, where would we be?”

“Aw, Hermione, you can't get hung up on that,'' Parvati says, and it just makes Hermione want to throttle her. 

“The war did as much good as harm,” Ginny said. It doesn't seem like it, but it’s true. If there was no war there’d be a bunch of maniacs running around. Shadbolt wouldn't be minister, you get it.

“Fred would be here, too,” Hermione says. 

“Don’t you dare bring that up, Hermione,” Ginny hisses. “I get it, the war was hard on you. It was hard on all of us. But don't bring him up and act like it affects you as much as it did me.” She throws her napkin on the table and storms out of the restaurant.

“Oh, fuck,” Hermione moans, and drops her head to the table. 


	5. Chapter 5

She gets home half an hour later, opens a new bottle of wine, pours herself a glass, then two, then four. She walks out to the living room, where her phone lays. “Oh, god,” she moans to herself. There’s a strange fear struck into her, into her bones. She's never been afraid of calling Ginny before. But she is now. 

She walks over, puts her wineglass down. She takes a deep breath before calling her. What does he say?

Hermione waits and listens to the rings. She doesn't pick up. An automated voice tells her to leave a message. 

“Ginny… I understand why you didn't pick up. It’s okay. I was over the line. Fred wasn’t my brother, but I did love him. I’m terribly sorry, and I hope you’ll forgive me.” she takes a deep breath, “in the meantime, I have something to tell you. I should've told you a long time ago. Remember when Malfoy was being held by the order? Well, I used to go up there. Talk to him. More, maybe. I don't know why. It just… I think it helped me. I think it helped him, too.”

She sighs and sits on her couch. “We’re just friends, now. I wouldn't even call us friends sometimes. We’re colleagues. We don't mention it. It's like it ever happened.”

She scoffs at herself. “I don't know why I'm telling you this. It’s useless now, anyway.”

She sighs. “I love you, Ginny, like a sister. I’m so sorry. Forgive me.”

She ends her message. 

—

An hour and a half later, Hermione is in her armchair, drinking a bottle of red and trying to forget her mistake. There’s a knock on the door, and she thinks about ignoring it, but she's just a little bit too lonely and just a little bit too hopeful with the hopes that normally hide away in her mind like mice. 

“Hermione,” is all Ginny says. Not hello, not _fuck you, you worthless bitch!_ Just hello. 

“Ginny,” Hermione says, mouth slack, caught off guard. 

“I listened to your message,” she says, then looks around the London street. “Can I come in?”

“Yes!” she says, “yeah, of course you can, Gin.”

“Thank you,” she shivers as she steps inside. It’s infinitesimally warmer here with a fireplace. Hermione helps her hang her coat and take off her gloves

“Oh my god, I never knew,” is the first thing she says once the door is closed. 

“We were careful, I guess,” she says, and shrugs. She feels as if her world is turning on its axis, as if the whole world is tilting and spinning. She needs to sit down and maybe stop drinking wine.

“I’m sorry. I — I shouldn't have said all those things. I've been thinking. It wasn't his fault. He was a spineless little prick at school, but it really wasn't. Just like it wasn't Fred’s fault. “

“Thank you, Gin. I’m so glad you're not angry.”

"Did you ever..."

"No. Not even a kiss. It wasn't really about that. It was something more."

“What's he like?” she asks eagerly, leaning forward on her toes. 

“He’s...sweet. Or he can be.” Hermione smiles. “And we’d just talk. Talk about so many things. Random things. It was an escape for me, to get away from it all — the war, the order. It all got too much, sometimes.”

“Yeah,” Ginny whispers. “I used to sneak into the attic and just sit there. Yours is probably safer.”

She snorts a laugh. “Probably.” Hermione looks at Ginny, and back at the half-bottle of wine. “Come on, sit down. Have some wine.”

“Alright.”


	6. Chapter 6

_ — _

_ “Hermione!” she turns at the top of the stairs, a rabbit caught in headlights. _

_ “Uh, Harry. What’s up?” _

_ “We haven't seen a lot of you lately, Hermione.” _

_ “Yeah. Sorry. I’ve been….preoccupied.” Yes, preoccupied with a certain blonde everyone else hates. “The war, my parents. You get it.”God, she hates being a good liar. It makes her feel so guilty.  _

_ “Yeah, I get it.” Harry seems to accept, and Hermione turns away, ready to barrel up the stairs and into the little room where she feels like she can finally breathe _ .  _ “Hermione!” Harry calls out, and she winces, turning back around. _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ He looks awkward, now. “Uh, we’re here. We’re all here for you.” _

_ She smiles, and tries to believe it. There’s a hard, aching bubble in her chest. Harry can't pop that. No one here can pop that, because they're on pedestals. They’re martyrs. They're Joan of Arc, fighting for a better future. And Joan of Arc wouldn't feel like this. Though, Joan was fighting the English.  _

_ “Yeah, thanks, Harry,” she gets out, and then scrambles her way up the stairs.  _

_ She turns the landing and waits a moment to make sure no one’s there to see her enter his room.  _

_ — _

_ “Harry ambushed me just now,” she says, sitting on the floor while he's on the bed. Draco turns to look at her.  _

_ “About what?” _

_ “Well, apparently I've been acting weird and he just wanted me to know that we’re here for him.” _

_ “Huh,” Draco says.  _

_ “Yeah,” she says. “You think he knows?” they know what she's talking about.  _

_ A long moment of consideration from him. “Nah,” he says finally, and it’s strange to hear something like that, so casual, from him. “If he knew he wouldn't just be telling you he's here for you, he’d be up here, putting my head on a stick.” _

_ She giggles.  _

_ — _

“You look happy, Hermione,” Mrs Weasley remarks in the kitchen. Hermione’s just grabbing water. 

“Oh, do I?” she says, reaching into a cabinet for a glass. 

“Yes,” Mrs Weasley remarks. “You’ve got this lovely glow about you.”

“Oh,” Hermione laughs, “thanks.”

Mrs Weasley smiles, but then she says, “How are you, dear? With the war. It’s...” she doesn't need to finish her sentence. Hermioen knows what she means. Everybody knows what she means. 

She freezes. “I’m like everyone else. I’m okay.”

“Are you?” she says cryptically, “like everyone else,” she clarifies

“...Yes?”

She seems to accept that answer, and just nods. “Have a nice day.”


	7. Chapter 7

“Can you go over those files Sunday night?” Malfoy asks, leaning in her open doorway.

“Oh, I can try, but I'll be busy,” she considers, re-dipping her quill. “It’s my birthday Sunday,” she tells him, strictly because of work-appropriate reasons. “I’m going out to dinner.”

“Oh. Sorry, you don't have to do the files.”

“No, no, I can still —”

“Have a good birthday, Granger,” he says firmly. "Don't you dare do those files."

She smiles at him. “I’ll try.”

He leaves the room, she closes her eyes, and it all comes back to her.

_ “Have a happy birthday, Granger,” and his voice is dull but his eyes are bright, where they stare at her. _

_ “What? How did you —” _

_ “I heard them singing.” _

_ “Oh.” _

_ “Yeah. Did you get many presents?” _

_ Her face turns icy. “We’re in the middle of a war.” _

_ “No, no, I didn't mean it like that. I meant it like…” he turns, shuffling under the bed, and bringing out something in his clenched hand. _

_ He presents it awkwardly, uncurling his fingers. Inside his palm lies a folded paper flower. _

_ “Oh, Draco,” and she holds the rose up in the light. “It’s beautiful.” and it is. it’s intricate, delicate, perfect. She wonders how he did it. _

_ He smiles shyly, like it's the highest praise he's ever received. “I used to fold origami. I liked it.” _

_ She laughs, “I can tell. I love it. Thank you.” _

_ He shrugs, like the praise has turned into a burden, “they left some paper in here, when they were questioning me. I managed to hide it.” _

_ “Thank you, Draco,” she says again, and launches forward to hug him, holding the origami high to avoid it being crushed. She looks at it, balanced in her hand, though tears in her eyes. It’s somehow the best thing he could have gotten her, even if he was still rich and in the Malfoy seat of power. _

_ He doesn't say anything, but he hugs her back, and that's enough. _

_ — _

She’s going to the burrow for her birthday dinner, apparently Mrs Weasley's been cooking up a storm.

She gst there and is immediately presented with hugs and kisses from everyone in the Weasley clan, Luna, Fleur and Harry.

While Mrs. Weasley is finishing dinner with a few occasional helpers, they sit and chat in the living room. It’s pleasant, and nice and fantastic for her second family, but Hermione can't help but think of her first. Her parents are still in Australia, obviatated, living their best life. Uprooting them would cause too much confusion and hurt. So, she’d decided they’d stay there, without ever knowing they had a child. She misses them on days like this. 

“Dinner’s ready!”

Everyone moves to the dining room, where a long oak table is set up with cutlery and plates.

“I heard you were working with Malfoy, Hermione?” Harry asks, “what’s that like?”

“Yes,” she answers, and shovels salad into her mouth. Her tactic doesn't work and dozens of pairs of eyes stare at her.

She chews and swallows, and drags it out as much as he can, but to no avail. “Yes, I’m working with him. He’s a good colleague,” she says politely.

“He’s  _ Malfoy _ , ‘Mione,” Ron says, and rolls his eyes.

“He went through just as much as us," she argues.

“On the wrong side,” Ron argues.

“And he knows that!” she snaps. “We all did things wrong. That was how he was brought up.”

Ron sighs. “He’s a pureblood, ‘Mione, that's how he identifies. He's pureblood first, then everything else.”

"And how, pray tell, do you have such insight into how he categorizes himself?"

"That's how they all are, Hermione. They're monsters."

She cocks her head. “Really with the pureblood bias, Ron?

“I'm a blood traitor.”

“You sure are.”

People react silently, drawing away from the table, from the conflict shooting across it. The air becomes static and awkward.

Hermione lets out a heavy breath. “I need air,” she tells them, and her chair scrapes back on the floor as she gets up.

The night air is colder, and refreshing. She sits out on the front porch and breathes. The door bangs open again after her and Molly Weasley sits next to her.

“Well, that's quite a scene in there," she says, calm as anything.

“Yeah,” she sighs, and puts her head in her hands. “I’m sorry. I ruined dinner.”

She snorts. “You didn't ruin everything. If you have a topic close to your heart, fight for it.”

“Malfoy isn't close to my heart.”

She chuckles a little. “Oh, honey, I knew you were going up there.”

“What?” she whips her head around. “Why did you let me?

She tuts, “It was good for you, and it was good for him. I always liked that boy, as strange as it sounds, he seemed scared, all that time. He was afraid, and that's that made him act like that.”

“He was afraid. He was afraid a lot longer than us.”

“Hmm,” she hums. “How is he?”

She shrugs. “I think he’s coping. I don’t know. He seems fine.”

“You should find out.”

“We don't talk about it, what happened. The war, the order. The time he spent there. It never happened to us.”

“But It did.”

“I know.”

She gets up. "Let's go back inside.”

—

“Hey, Hermione!” someone calls as she’s walking through the lobby, off to her office for an exciting day of paperwork.”

She turns, and it’s him, Draco, in a dress shirt and slacks, jogging up towards her.

“Hey,” she says, and tucks her hair behind her ear.

“Hi,” he says, and unzips his bag. He pulls out a flat package, dressed in Christmas wrapping. “This is for you. Sorry, that's the only wrapping I had.”

“No,” she laughs, and takes it from his hands. “I love it. Thank you.``

“You haven't even opened it.”

“I know I will.”

He looks at her, and he means it, she can hear it. “Happy birthday, Granger.”

“Thank you, Draco."

— 

Later, in the privacy and security of her office, she opened the present. The wrapping paper crackles under her fingers, and Hermione smiles at the Christmas bears in red and gold.

She slides the object out of the wrapping paper and it’s a little box. She lips it open, and  _ oh, my —  _

It’s a little figurine nestled in a little bed of thin paper is a glass dove, with its wings outstretched and a little olive branch in it’s delicate beak.

“Oh,” she sighs ,and cradles it in her hands. She lifts it up, holds it to the light. 

She smiles fondly and places the figurine on the corner of her desk, safe until she can take it home.

An olive branch. A white dove.

Peace. 


	8. Chapter 8

_ It’s early, early evening, on the cusp of dusk, with fading light thrown across the walls.  _

_ They've been in here an hour, and the room is warm, it’d been an usually hot day in London, and this room is like a car in the sun. Hermione's drowsy, like a cat, lying on his bed, a warm eight by her legs as he fiddles with his sheets. _

_ “Are you falling asleep?” he asks. _

_ She opens her eyes. “No.” _

_ He laughs.  _

_ A moment later, “Hey, what does the Gryffindor common room look like? I always wondered.” _

_ “Oh, well, there's a couple tables for studying, and a huge fireplace with armchairs in front of it, y’know, he cushy ones with all the stuffing leaking out. And the dorms are nice, loads of bathrooms. The stairs to the girl’s dorms turn into a slide if you’re a guy and try to go up.” _

_ He laughs lowly. “People ever fall for it.”  _

_ She smiles. “Yeah, surprisingly often.” _

_ “In the Slytherin commons there are about four fireplaces, and so many rugs, and two couches and countless blankets and pillows since it’s so cold.” _

_ “Huh,” she says, “I always imagined it like a dungeon, with slime and mould and blood, or something.” _

_ He laughs. “Couldn't be more wrong.” _

_ “What's it like, then?” _

_ “Oh, god, my favourite thing is in the boys' dorm, there’s this window out into the lake, and the merpeople would swim up and you could make faces at them. _

_ “Wow,” she says softly. _

_ “Yeah, he laughs. “They’re kinda pervs, though.” _

_ She laughs. “Good to know.” she can see him, propping his chin up on his hand, and there's just something so soft about him right now, “Tell me more,” she asks quietly.  _

_ “They've got all these tapestries and statues and things made up of famous Slytherins, and not evil ones. Snape did it in my 2nd year. I think he wanted us to know that there were good Slytherins or something.” _

_ “Did it help?” _

_ “Maybe it did.” _

_ —  _

_ “I like this. Us,” she says an hour later. They've just been talking and sitting.  _

_ “Me too,” he says.  _

_ “What's gonna happen after the war?” _

_ “With us?” _

_ “I guess.” _

_ “Depends how it ends.” she can hear him breathing. “Either we’ll be dead, wishing we were, or something else.” _

_ “Something else?” she probes. _

_ He stiffens, she can tell, her air in the room turns static, like it’s waiting to see what they’ll do next. “There are worse things than dying, Granger. If they find out…” _

_ “Who? Your family?” sh’s annoyed, irritated, for some reason. She doesn't know.  _

_ “Anyone. Your lot would execute me for darning to tarnish the golden girl. I'd be accused of using magic to get you to come here, for tricking you. They’d use every excuse, especially with your little hound-dogs, the ginger and the scarhead. My side wouldn't be any kinder to me. They'd kill me out of shame.” _

_ “You’re just afraid, Draco.” _

_ “Yeah, I’m fucking terrified,” he stares her down. “I’m being held behind enemy lines, I'm being forced to participate in a war I don't want to have anything to do with, my mother is —'' he cuts himself off. She opens her mouth to ask, “leave it,” he asks, hard. He’s not going to budge.  _

_ “You don't want to participate.” _

_ “Never really did,” and he sounds drawn and morose and tired and sad. “I was going to go to France, you know. My mother’s family have a half-dozen properties that they've forgotten about there. I was going to just be me. Live by myself, sit by the sea — or in the country, depending on where I ended up. Eat food. Swim. It was going to be brilliant. I would visit my friends. The ones that got out, Theo in Germany, Blaise is in Italy. Well, last i heard. They could be dragged back by now. I don't know, I don't know anymore.” _

_ “I'm sorry.” _

_ “You didn't do it.” _

_ “Yeah, but we were shitheads to you, too.” _

_ “I was worse.” _

_ “So? Stop trying to invalidate my apology so you can wallow.” _

_ He smiles. “Sorry.” _

_ “That's okay.” _

— 

She enters his open-door office. “Hey Malfoy, I wanted to thank you for your gift — what are you doing?”

He’s standing next to his desk, shrugging on a wool coat. “Uh, nothing?”

“You're leaving.”

He raises his eyebrows. “Yes.”

She checks her watch quickly. “It’s 3.”

“I noticed.”

“You leave at six.”

“You only know that because you leave at seven,” he snipes back.

“Why are you leaving?”

He shrugs. “Finished everything. Boss-man gave me permission.”

She narrowed her eyes. “No, he didn't.” 

Malfy sighs. “Fine, Granger, It’s the date of my mother’s death. And I'm going to her grave. Happy?”

“Oh,” she regrets it deeply. “I’m sorry, Draco. I shouldn't have pushed.”

He walks past her. “It’s fine.”

“Is it?” she takes a breath, but it doesn't feel like enough. “I push people, Draco. I push people until they don't like me anymore, because I feel that's what I deserve. I've pushed Harry, Ron, Ginny, and everybody in my life. And you.”

“Hermione…”

“Do you regret it?” she hesitates as his face freezes, “us?” she clarifies, as if she needs to.

“I know what you're talking about,” he spits out. 

She stands her ground. “Answer the question.”

“I think it was the best thing that happened to me for a long time.”

She smiles, relieved. “Me too.”

“We’ve — you’ve won the war, but that doesn't mean that news on our...relationship — the relationship that started in the war — wouldn't...upset things.”

“I get it. It’s easier this way. Some secrets don't need to be spilt," there's a hot pit in her stomach as she says those words. 

“Yeah,” she says. “Right. Well, I'm gonna be late,” he strides past her, towards the door and the outside world, popping this little bubble they've created.

“Draco?”

He pauses. “Yeah, Hermione?”

“I hope you get to France one day.”

He smiles a little grimly at the memory. “Me too.”


	9. Chapter 9

_ She remembers the day he had gone, the day she’d stood in the open doorway for the first time since he came, and looked at the bed, and the chair and the bathroom, and anywhere else he could have gone, and she just sighs. He’s gone. _

_ She should have seen it coming. _

_ She went back downstairs, froze in the kitchen for a moment, and then compelled the words to leave her lips. _

_ "Malfoy's gone." _

_ Mrs Weasley and Lupin, sipping tea with Harry, look up, shocked. Lupin and Harry thunder past her, on the way to the stairs, where they'll discover an open door and a mockingly empty room. _

_ "How did you find out?" Mrs Wealsey asks. _

_ "What?" _

_ "How did you realise he was gone?" _

_ "Oh, uh -- the door. The door was open." _

_ "Okay," and she turns away as other people come out and look at the room and ask her what she saw. _

_ \-- _

_ Nobody knows. She doesn't know what they would think, anyway. Half of her wishes she'd die. Or he'd die, or everyone would die and this burden, this secret laying on her chest would be alleviated. _

_ Three weeks later, a transparent ghost, a Patronus, flies through her window. It's a bird, a white dove.  _

_ She backs up in bed, grabs her wand in case. _

_ “Granger,” It’s his voice, Malfoy’s voice, “meet me at Tottenham Court Road tube station, Tomorrow, 2 ‘o’clock. Just you, just me. Don’t respond to this.” _

_ That's it. That's all. _

_ She didn't know he could produce a Patronus. _

_ — _

_ She gets there at 2 on the dot. She didn't want to explain why she needed to leave, so she’d snuck out, no help from Mrs Black, who's set off on the front door. They'll be questions later, but she doesn't care.  _

_ It’s not busy, just a few kids ditching school and a gaggle of tourists. She waits and leans on the wall. She’s there for five minutes, about to give up when he’s there, stepping onto the platform, in tailored clothes and with his hair out around his face.  _

_ “Granger!” he calls out and strolls towards her like this is a chance encounter. “How are you?" he puts his hands in his pockets, leaning forward. _

_ “Just dandy,” she says sourly. _

_ “Me too, thanks for asking.” He’s got a strange manner about him. Infuriating, she would call it, but playful; like a parrot making faces and noises at children in the zoo. _

_ “Why am I here, Malfoy?” she sighs. _

_ “Wanted to see you. Tell you I've said nothing about us.” _

_ “Us?” she scoffs. “There’s no us.” _

_ “Not to them.” _

_ She sighs, “Why did you leave, Malfoy?” _

_ “I've always been a Death-Eater, Granger,” he says, and his voice has switched, he's cold. He's not joking. He raises his forearm, and his mark gleams in the light. “Just because you lost sight of that didn't mean I changed.” _

_ The train roars up behind them, and they just look at each other for a moment, abusing the excuse to be silent. _

_ The train arrives and the people that get off walk past them and the kids and the tourists get on, and they’re still silent. _

_ “It's been good seeing you, Granger.” _

_ And he steps away from her, starts towards the stairs. _

_ “Why am I here?” she cries out into the empty tube terminal, just out of desperation. _

_ He shrugs, “busy place, muggle place. No magic.” _

_ “Draco, I —” _

_ “Draco,” and he smiles a little. Not mocking, not joking. Genuinely, sweetly. _

_ “What?” _

_ “You called me Draco.”  _

_ She throws her hands up, “It's your name! I call you that all of the time!" _

_ “Yeah, Hermione. You do, but we aren't in Grimmauld anymore, I wasn't sure if you would." _

_ He smiles, and walks backwards to the tube entrance, pushing past the people trickling in. _

_ “Draco,” she yells after him, and he, at the top of the stairs, next to the muggles he’s meant to hate, he looks back at her, and mouths something. Then he's gone.  _


	10. Chapter 10

“Hello, Malfoy,” she greets briskly, stepping inside his office.

He looks up from his paperwork sleepily. “What do you want?”

“We’re on a job together.”

“What job?”

“Someone decided to transfigure some magical creatures into domestic pets and then let them loose with the muggles. Eventually, they transform back.”

“Oh, Merlin,” he groans, “can I guess how that ended?”

“No deaths, yet, but a partially clawed little boy and some frightened muggles when Fido turned into a Griffin."

“Great. Where is it?”

“Little town in the Richmondshire District.”

“Great.”

“I’ll book a hotel.”

Turns out the man transfiguring animals is this half-blind, mostly crazy old hermit who dashes down from the hills naked to jinx them, only he’s grabbed the wrong stick. They arrest him and send correspondence back to the Ministry warning them about the particularly tricky prisoner.

After that’s all done, and they’ve found his old shack where he’s got a strange amount of jerky, taken all the evidence, all that's done is to obliviate everyone and write their reports. They let the MAC - Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes -- handle the obviating and the two of them walk back to the hotel to pack and floo home.

“Figures we’d be doing this together, eh?” he says, as they pass an antique shop she peers into.

“What do you mean?” she asks, dragging her eyes away from a vase painted red and gold. She can't put flowers in the pot next time, and she likes Gryffindor colours.

“We always got stuck together. Hogwarts, work, the war...well, weren't exactly on the same side, but—”

“I remember,” she snaps.

“Me too,” and his voice is serene.

She sighs. She has to do this. “Why did you leave? Really?” he slows to a stop, turns to face her.

“I told you why.”

“No,” she shakes her head, “You told me something so I wouldn't love you, so all ties would be severed.”

He laughs. “You love me, Granger?”

“No, '' she says, and she  _ thinks _ she means it, “but you loved me.”

His face arches and falls. “Granger…”

“Tell me why, Draco,” and her voice is ragged, and she is ragged, one step from losing it.

“My mother,” he says softly. “She was fragile, even before….everything. Then I failed, and my father failed. She was punished, instead of us,” he lowers his head, as if in shame. “He hurt her, and I — I couldn't stop it,” tears shine on his face when he lifts it again. “I couldn't stop it.”

“I’m sorry, Draco,” she hugs him, arms around his neck, boy against his, it’s like they’re back in that room again, highlighted with the twilight fire of the sunset.

“I’m sorry too. I did it all wrong.”

“You did what you could. We all did what we could, what we thought was right in the moment.”

—

She’s working late, eyes burning, and all she wants is to go home. She packs up, finishing the last of the paperwork from the transfigured animals case. She's passing Draco's office on the way out when she notices his light on. Carefully, she walks over, knocking on the door softly before opening. The only light is from his desk lamp, and he’s sitting there, around cold coffee and stacks of paperwork.

A lavender plane darts past her head and jabs into his.

“Motherfucker,” he hisses. “For Merlin’s sake.”

“Trouble, Draco?”

His head jolts up to look at her. “Jesus fuck, Granger, what are you doing, creeping on me like that?!”

“I wasn't creeping. I saw your light on.

“How long have you been standing there?”

“I let the plane in. Sorry.”

“Should be, I’m gonna get a bruise,” he rubs his head woefully

She snorts. “No, you're not.”

“How do you know?”

“I’ve been whacked in the head more times than I can remember,” she says, and leans on the doorway

“That's why you can't remember,” he snipes back, and stretches. You can hear his spine pop throughout the room.

She laughs. “Come on. Let's walk out together.”

“Alright,” he accepts, and grabs his coat, meeting her at the door.

“Aparate or floo?”

“Floo, please,” she mumbles.

“Alright, then.” he has never looked quite as carefree, half-dead from tiredness, wearing a wrinkled shirt and his hair all messy, not in the way it usually is, stylish, but truly messy, like he's just woken up. She likes it. She likes him, really. She likes the person he's become, even though all the heartbreak. 

They step out into the lobby and are immediately met with a storm of camera flashes and questions. Journalists are allowed inside the lobby but not any further. The right of the press etcetera, etcetera. 

“Mr Malfoy, Mr Malfoy! We’ve heard that you sought shelter inside the order during the war?”

“Miss Granger!”

“Mr Malfoy, do you have a comment?”

“Are you in a relationship?”

“Mr Malfoy! Mr Malfoy!”

“Is it true that you’re a blood traitor?”

“Hermione, can you corroborate this?”

“Oh god,” Hermione breathes, as the camera flashes illuminate everything. “How did they know?”

“Huh,” and Malfoy just puts his hands in his pockets and looks at it all. “Looking back, I'm not sure we were as secretive as we thought.”

“Come on!” she grabs his hand out of his pocket and they push through the crowds, trying to get outside, out into the muggle streets where they can't follow.

They make it, although Hermione nearly loses her purse, and Draco very barely survives, but they do. What a way to go! Mauled to death by journalists. Hermione wants that on her gravestone.

Adrenaline turns to excitement, and sheer disbelief, and happiness, and just the scarcity of the whole thing.

“Come on!” she shouts, even though they aren't following them anymore but Malfoy doesn't seem to mind and just smiles that sharp smile, his hair bright in the streetlamps, his skin almost luminous. 

They race half a block to the next tube station and arrive just as a train is going. They dash onboard and the carriage is nearly empty, only a few other late-night workers and some drunk girls a few carriages down.

Hermione laughs out loud and turns to Draco, where she is met with him closer than he’s been in — a long time. 

“Yeah?” she laughs. 

He smiles. “Face it, Granger, you loved me too.”

She just leans upwards and kisses him. 

This was always Hermione Granger's destiny, to be on an empty tube carriage, running from the paps, kissing her most hated enemy.

  
  
  



End file.
